Soliloquy
by Xehra
Summary: Amidala reflects on the future of her children


Title: Soliloquy  
Author: Xehra Bethe xehra@xmail.com   
Rating: G  
Setting: About 13 years pre-ANH  
Summary: Amidala's thoughts on her children's future.  
Disclaimer: I own no one, George Lucas owns them all. I make no coin.   
Archive: Go for it, just let me know where it ends up  
Feedback: Always appreciated!  
Thanks: To Peta for the beta. Hey, that rhymes!   
  
  
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Soliloquy  
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Somehow, I always knew. In some deep, forgotten part of my consciousness lurked the knowledge that Anakin would one day wound me this deeply. Don't ask me where it came from, or why, all I know is that sometimes when I looked at him, so blond and beautiful and burning with enthusiasm, I saw in him a darkness that no light could penetrate. But what I did not suspect was his potential for such base acts of cruelty and hate.  
  
Life was so marvellous when we were first married that I should have been wary of the trials that would come. Since then I have learned that for every happiness life gives, it exacts in sorrow and pain. This is a lesson I will not be teaching my daughter. I do not want her to walk in the world with the knowledge that she will pay later in sadness for every joyous moment. So I do not teach her much at all, lest she grow to be like me. Sad. Bitter. Full of regret.  
  
I let Bail teach her the things she needs to know. Useful things, like how to curtsy to visiting dignitaries, and how to shoot straight with a blaster. And not so useful things, like how to make birds from folded paper and why her pet pittin hates to take a bath. I, however, spend my time in my garden, watching the minutiae of the insects as they scurry through their uncomplicated and emotionless lives. I envy them their ignorance of the pain that can be inflicted by those whom we love.   
  
However, sometimes one of Alderaan's suns comes out from behind a cloud and my garden is filled with sunlight. I watch Leia play with her little friend Winter and it is times like these that my thoughts wander more happy paths. I feel, however briefly, that the moments of love and happiness were worth every second of pain and hurt. Especially when I see my daughter's face lit up with the joy of discovery, or flushed with the exertion of a running game.  
  
But then the sorrow again falls upon my heart and I remember the boy I have lost, my son. Obi-Wan took him from me; to keep him safe, or so he said. I understood the need then, but it does not make the separation any easier now. My common sense tells me that he must remain hidden from Vader at all costs and that is why I cannot know where he is. That realisation does not, however, ease my heart much and adds to the steady ache that has resided there since the day Anakin turned.  
  
Evening falls on my garden and I close my eyes as the last of the suns set, lost in bittersweet memories. Anakin loved to watch the fiery descent of the suns, whatever planet we were on. It reminded him of Tatooine, he said. Of home. When he talked like that I would see the small boy I met in Watto's junkshop in the man before me. The one who asked if I was an angel. The one for whom Qui-Gon paid the ultimate price, his belief was so strong. The one whom Yoda feared, and Obi-Wan trained. The one who gave me my son and daughter.  
  
Our love burned so brightly at first, it would almost eclipse the splendour of the desert sunset. Now it is ashes, cold and grey. As I sift through the fine cinder of our lives together, I thank the gods that Leia will not know the man that I married and what he has become. She thinks Bail is her father, and I am content to perpetuate the lie. He is a thousand times the man that Anakin was at the end, and never the monster that Vader has become. He loves her as his own, and I suspect he loves me as much. I cannot return his tender gaze and affectionate touch, though. My heart is ashes, and I can never love again.  
  
Tears slide down my cheeks. Involuntarily, the voices of my dead handmaidens whisper to me from across the years, scolding me for ruining my elaborate make-up. But I have not worn the ceremonial cosmetics and adornments for many years. Not even the scar of remembrance, once the most important cultural marker of my planet, adorns my lip anymore. I am no longer Amidala, once ruler of Naboo, wife of Anakin Skywalker. I no longer Padme either, stubborn and capable, anonymous personification of a Queen. I am simply the sad woman that lives in the East Wing of the Alderaanian palace, mother of the feisty Leia and secret love of the planet's ruler. 'Mimichi' the servants call me, 'the quiet one'. I hear them whispering when they come to clean my apartment. They think I am a princess in exile. They do not know they are half right.  
  
Night falls in my garden, but still I remain in my chair. A servant brings a tray of food to tempt me, although both she and I know I will not touch it. Fear has dulled my appetite indefinitely. I live in dread, cold in the shadow of terror's black wings. As I knew deep within me that my love would leave me, so too do I know that one day he will come back. Not for me, perhaps. He knows I am but a living shell now, no threat to him or his dark Master. It is for Leia that I fear. And for my son too. They are both strong in the Force, and this makes them targets. Although I know Vader does not know of their existence, I do not believe he will be deceived forever. My children are extraordinary, and will do great things with their lives. Even I can see that, and I do not feel the Force. Sooner or later, they will come to the attention of Sideous or Vader, and then my children will be hunted, as I was when I first fled the monster that my husband had become.   
  
In my dreams, I let myself hope that Leia and Luke will find each other. Together, I think, they can face their father. The Force is strong with them, Obi-Wan told me, in Luke stronger than it was with Anakin. The old Jedi still has hope, or he did when I last saw him. In me, however, it is slowly dying. As the stars come out in my garden, I look up at the heavens and try to imagine what my son is doing now. With a wrench I realise that I do not even know what he looks like. Or what food is his favourite. Or what he likes to do in his spare time. Or if he has his father's eyes...   
  
A movement at my elbow draws my attention back to Alderaan, and I see my daughter looking at me curiously with her head to one side. I pick her up and settle her in my lap. I cannot protect her from the dark days I know are coming, but I can pretend for a while that all is right with the universe. As I stroke her silky brown hair, a coldness settles once again over my heart. I pray to any gods that will listen that my children will escape the terrible legacy of their father's betrayal. The Skywalker name will not haunt my daughter, at least.  
  
END  



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